Be Still My Cog Work Heart
by Lala Fantasia
Summary: Be Still My CogWork Heart by Writing-the-day-away is the original author of this story. I have no intentions of plagiarism and therefore will remove the story if requested. More info as author's note inside. Please read all of it.


**A/N:** Again I apologize for not informing Writing-the-day-away about using the idea. As far as plagiarism goes, this entire chapter is made in homage to the original source, only one minor detail was added. It was not copied word for word, only event. Both title and content were used in tribute for the inspiration and original source, therefore both the content of the first chapter and title belong to Writing-the-day-away. Again I apologize for use without permission, and will take down the story at your request via PM.

Moving away from the professionally speech, I really did like the idea and recommend everyone to at least see the original in consideration for her work and effort that she put into writing it. She only wrote one chapter, but it has been inactive for over a year and I really wanted to see what happens next. A lot of stories end up abandoned, but always a great idea. I am merely picking up an abandoned story with great potential. Again I'm really sorry, but I really wanted to see the rest, whether through my own words or another's. I have an idea of how this story goes in my mind, but I also want others to know therefore I'm publishing this online.

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Be Still My Cog Work Heart

A man, a woman, and a child. One of the few pictures that exists of the small family. The man stood beside his wife ad child, only a toddler, not even two at the time of the photo. Even in it's sepia colors, the man himself was strikingly handsome even with his rare features. Of red eyes and white hair, just like the scientists' lab rats. But it did not deter from his loyalty to his country, and his ability as a soldier.

The man was a veteran of war. For five years, he had been drafted away to fight for his country. Despite his disadvantage of terrible sight, he had managed to survive not only being a scapegoat for better armed and trained soldiers, but rise in ranks and come back a war hero.

The man continued to stare lovingly into the sepia colored eyes of his once wife. A tragedy or a blessing. It had been only two years after his return that his wife's condition took a turn for the worse and her health plummeted. When he left, she was sickly but she had held on til his return. A tragedy, but a blessing to have two more years with her. But his gaze was interrupted by a clatter from the next room over.

The man made to get up from his seat, but not before a boy came into the room. For a moment, he had thought he saw his deceased wife in the boy's amethyst gaze. He faltered only a moment before reaching for his cane to walk over to the boy.

The boy, a mere twelve years old, clung to the arm which hung by his side. The arm was his, yet not. It was a mechanical replacement for the arm that was lost merely a year after his mother's passing. An accident it was, but an that cost an arm and a leg, literally. While the boy had suffered the lost of an arm, his father suffered the loss of a leg. Unlike the boy, his leg was not steam powered machinery, but rather a plain prosthetic.

The prosthetic replaced his leg, but at times a cane was required to move properly. Sometimes he'd even use crutches only to forget the feeling of the prosthetic, a reminder of another tragedy in his life.

"The gears stopped moving all of a sudden." The boy said.

The man kneeled down as best as he can before the boy. He wiped away the paint splatter and brushed back his platinum blonde hair, a recessive trait from both parents, and gave a smile, to dispel the boy's worries. It worked, but only for a second.

The man took the mechanical arm in hand and inspected it for loose gears. To the untrained eye, nothing seemed out of place. He winded the arm and watched the gears turn. They each rotated, but after winding the cogs no longer moved. He didn't understand, but that's only because he did not understand the working of such a device. Soldiers were taught to kill and evade, mechanics and repair were left all to the engineers. And as it stands, this arm had been the third in their trial and error process of finding an arm that fits.

"It's alright." He said, patting the boy's hair. "We'll get you a new arm. One that won't fail. Now go outside and play instead, I need to make a phone call."

The boy nodded and exited the room.

The man sighed as he got back up towards his desk. He looked at the picture of his deceased wife and struggled to come to terms that the boy's arm may never be fixed, and his son will never lead a normal life ever again. It was when his eyes drifted that he saw the picture.

Taken during the end of the war, it was a picture of him and a mechanic as they posed before the train home. The man was a genius he remembered. Even under the pressures of war he had fixed artillery and vehicles from fragments of their old husk, and made them better than before. If this man was still a genius, he may be the only one to offer him solace.

The man walked towards the wall near the door frame and leaned against it as he picked up the receiver and called up the operator. The line rung twice before a click sounded and a voice came through.

"This is the operator speaking, to whom are you trying to reach?"

With a deep breath he named his former partner. "Sterling, Alistair."


End file.
